Legend (Real, #6)(25)

I power down the treadmill and hop off. “In that case, how are your legs? You’re going to need to catch up.”

We head outside and I watch him from the corner of my eye as we take the trail, the noon sun blazing high above us for the minutes it takes us to wander into the shelter of the trees.

“I like spending time with you,” I mumble.

“Me too.” He smiles at me sideways, and I feel that smile in every sexual place of my body.

“Wow, look at this view.” I stop and take in all the green slopes on the horizon. We’ve been hiking up the trail for twenty minutes, and it’ll take most of that time to hike our way down. “I only have twenty more minutes or Racer will get restless.”

“How’s he liking Denver?”

“Good. He’s obsessed with the mountains. So do you hike when you’re not punching?”

“Not really. . . .” He mysteriously trails off, then shoots me a studious look before he adds, his voice soft as the breeze, “I wanted you all to myself.”

I stop. “What? Why??” I choke on a laugh.

He’s not smiling, just looking amused and honest and so much like a guy, his eyes a little dark. “You know why.”

“Do I?” I shake my head in consternation. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

“Why?” His lips twitch a fraction.

“Because . . .” I search for a reason, trying to regain my breath. “Maybe I like your voice?”

Suddenly he’s in my space, backing me up, his gaze intent. My Himalayan butt hits a tree and I gasp when he props his arm against it. He pins my body between him and the bark. All my breath goes when the front of his body makes contact with the front of mine. My nipples react so strongly they hurt.

I’m suddenly smelling forest and earth and Maverick Cage.

Maverick looks at me for a moment, his face harsh in concentration, the leaves of the lush surroundings rustling with a breeze, thankfully hiding my rapidly quickening breath. Maverick lowers his eyes so they are level with mine, not touching me with his hands, only his body keeping mine in place. “I want to spend the twenty minutes you have left kissing you, Reese,” he says, his voice—so deep, so textured, and so irresistible—running thick and heady through my veins.

But it’s the look in his eyes, asking for permission, that slays me.

“You’re attracted to me?” I ask disbelievingly.

He says, as if it’s obvious and not easy for him to stand, “Very much attracted to you, Reese.”

“I . . .” I look away, acutely aware of how hard every inch of his body is, contacting mine.

I did not see this coming.

I’m blown away.

In cinders, right here, on this trail, I’m leaving a part of me right here.

He leans his head forward slowly, and I turn my head instinctively away, just an inch, scared to feel his lips on mine. Scared of what it’ll do to me.

He brushes his lips across my jawline instead. I hear a moan rip out of my throat. He exhales and eases back, looks at me for a moment.

The weight of his gaze feels like sex on my face, then he dips his head and sinuously, heatedly, drags his lips along my temple, up to my forehead, where he sets a kiss there, his soft, firm lips pressing into my skin in a kiss that lasts for about ten perfect, frightening, thrilling seconds.

My throat is tight, and I want to beg him not to stop when he inches away and studies me with eyes that shine with jealousy and possessiveness. “Is it him?”

No. It’s you. You make me reckless.

I like it.

But I’m afraid.

“Maybe,” I say instead, swallowing. I’m leaning against the tree, struggling to get my knees to work.

“What’s he like?”

I can’t even remember Miles, and it stresses me. I put even more distance between us as we start walking again. “He’s . . .” I search for words. Miles.

“This guy back home,” he says with a suddenly vicious, happy sparkle in his eyes.

“I know who we’re talking about, Mav.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs softly—happy that I don’t remember? “He’s . . . not like you.”

When I met Miles, I was alone in the college cafeteria and saw this guy, clean and wholesome, call two guys and a girl, his friends, over to him. They followed him to my table. “Mind if we sit down?” he asked.

And I nodded, and when he said, “I’m Miles,” I thought that at last someone got me. Somehow someone wondered if there was more to me.

I’m ashamed to tell him I’m this easy. This charmed by something so simple. A name or a penny, or a look from silver eyes and a guy who’s so upfront he tells you he wanted you alone so he could kiss you.

He pulls off a leaf from a tree we pass, cuts it thoughtfully, and tosses it aside with a frown. “Meaning.”

“He’s more polished.”

“You mean he has money.” Jaw visibly clamped now, he grabs another leaf and just tosses it completely aside.

“No. He’s . . . not primal. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a fight.”

“’Cause he’d lose.”

I smile and watch my feet as we take the trail down.

“Do you trust him? Does he care for you like you do?” he drills on.